I am listening to a song by Lauren Henschen's entitled "I Swear It Would Have Moved You".

I'm thoroughly enjoying it.

I work in a few hours. Driving around most of the night allows me plenty of time to think and/or rock out. This delivery business isn't a bad gig at all. I even think I've discovered a new form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. It seems to manifest primarily in women and it compels them to take a shower immediately after ordering a pizza and then run around in a towel until the pizza arrives.

It is just a hypothesis, though. Clearly, more research is in order.

After feeding my blog template a last meal, I took it out to the yard behind my house and shot it.

I buried the blog template under the pink grapefruit tree. I observed a moment of silence that was marred by the rumbling of a passing train and a grunt of pain as the grapefruit I was biting into squirted pink liquid pain into my left eye.

I returned to the indoors and the mounds of uncertainty that had accumulated in my new bedroom.

I have moved into a house on Apache and McClintock. It is a four-bedroom with a lush backyard. I now live with Brian Y., Virginia, and Mollie. I moved in almost two weeks ago but it seems as if it has been much longer than that.

I finally got a job a week ago but it seems as if it has been a little less than a week ago.

I am now a pizza delivery boy. It is almost the exact opposite of the insurance company I left in May. I am still as reckless as ever, except now I am on the road and instead of desperately avoiding my supervisors I have to avoid police, pedestrians, and other cars.

I have been admitted to Arizona State University. I begin classes full-time in a few weeks. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover that I am actually a Junior. It seems all that half-assed effort at community college added up. I will major in Biology and Society and perhaps sneak in an English minor.

I am dating a wonderful woman named Kelly. She is left-handed. I had deftly managed to avoid dating entirely since December. Kelly, simply by being herself, performed the mental equivalent of sticking out her foot and I tripped right over it. And I liked it. A lot.

I am still tinkering with this template but my hopes are high. My old writing desk and my laptop are set up in my new room. This is the same setup I had during the year when I found myself the most prolific. I am hoping the same trick will work twice.

Here's to a new chapter. Here's to an honest discourse. And here's to figuring out how to get rid of that "Typewriter's at the ready!" in the corner of this template.

I'm warning you, New Template. Don't give me no sass. There's still plenty of room underneath the ol' pink grapefruit tree.

Update: My threat worked.

I am home.


Batman Begins is awesome.

Any experienced insomniac will tell you to avoid watching Monty Python's The Meaning of Life and then reading certain livejournals, such as Jaclyn's. Doing this, while very pleasurable, will undoubtedly lead to much more thinking than you typically do on a Monday evening/Tuesday morning.


Ah, well. I like the nighttime.

The quiet is different here in this town with no stoplights.


There is a thickness to the air that persists despite the gentle breezes that carry in the smell of the freshly-cut hay in the surrounding fields. I wonder if it is the soul of this place. It is a peaceful quiet that could be a despairing acceptance of the inevitable.


I imagine an elderly hunter-gatherer sitting alone in the falling snow because he can no longer keep pace with the rest of the tribe.


Some cows escaped from the pasture today. Brian and I tried to herd them back into their enclosure. It was going well but we ultimately failed because we couldn't figure out how they had gotten out in the first place. Without a destination, our valiant attempt at herding cattle quickly degraded into just a couple of city boys chasing some cows around.


A sad farce played out under spacious skys amidst amber waves of grain.


There is a mountain in the distance. It is white, not purple. I believe it is Mount Hood.


The neighbors keep goats in a large field. The goats eat the grass in the field. I presume this frees up a lot of time for the neighbors since they no longer have to mow their field or justify their poor landscaping skills. "If you don't like my field, feel free to complain to the goats."


I remember something in the Bible about sheep going to heaven and goats going to Hell. I guess nobody is off the hook.


There is a donkey along with the goats in the field. Every now and again he will stand in the middle of the field and bray and bray as if something terribly exciting were about to happen. Which, incidently, it doesn't.


Or perhaps he just forgets that he is a donkey in a field with a bunch of goats and then suddenly realizes it again. Hence the brays of dismay.


I don't remember where the Bible says donkeys go.


Wherever it is, I doubt they deserve it.

Smokey the Bear is, in fact, a real bear. At least, he was. After a forest fire, a bear cub was found horribly burned. He was nursed back to health and cruelly named "Smokey." He was the direct inspiration for the anthropomorphic, shirtless bear who still intimidates children and adults alike.


Regardless, I snuck in and out of the Grand Canyon without a problem. So much for Homeland Security.


Brian, Kelly, and I arrived at the East Rim at 1:00 am after a car ride filled with Cheeze-Its and laughter. We didn't want to wait until morning to hike into the Canyon, so we shouldered our packs, donned head-lamps, and were on our way. We arrived at the campgrounds around 6 am. The Reservation Checkpoint had yet to open so we just hiked right past it and I was in.


Brian and I stayed until Sunday evening. Kelly was driving back to Phoenix with her friends and had left very early that morning. Brian and I had no such commitments. We hiked out around dusk and somehow made it to the East Rim in 3 hours and 45 minutes. It was hardcore. Bats were flying everywhere, kingsnakes were slithering about, and squat, brightly colored lizards bobbed their heads threateningly at us.


We got to the top, rested for 20 minutes, hopped in the car, and headed towards San Francisco.


San Francisco was awesome. Josh and Laura's apartment is a block away from the beach. Next door, less than thirty seconds away, is a little grocery store, a bar, and a pizza place.


I was in heaven.


I did a lot. I went to the zoo, the Legion of Honor to look at art and sculptures, an art show at an art gallery which was more like a party with live music, I ran along the beach, I saw an amazing band called Loquat where I fell in love with the lead singer and got her to sign my chest, went wine tasting in Napa Valley, walked all about the town, talked to a multitude of colorful characters including a Korean War veteran and a magical musical bum, and ate a lot of pizza.


Saturday was the wedding of Josh and Laura, which was the whole reason we were there. It was a beautiful ceremony and a great reception. I love those two.


The wedding reception and events afterward is a story in itself, but Joey's blog already puts it pretty well.


Brian and I left San Francisco Sunday afternoon. We arrived in Merril, Oregon at 8 in the evening at Brian's grandparent's house were we are staying right now. I like it here. Which is good, since I'm not returning to Phoenix until the beginning of July.


Well, I gotta go; I'm on borrowed time.

So as I'm sure everyone expected, I'm now off to break into the Grand Canyon for the weekend. From there, I'm jaunting off to San Francisco for a week. The rest of June will be whiled away in Oregon where I will be exploring caves, wildlife preserves, reading, and trying not to get bitten by any more ponies.


I should return around July 4th.


Unless I get arrested by Smoky the Bear or whatever forest creature is in charge of that sort of thing.